ONLY: THE LONELY

Dum dum da dooby dum dum, is that how it goes? You know it does, of course, one of those terific songs that, no matter your age, evokes simpler times, perhaps in black and white, quiffs, brylcreem and big collars over the top of suit lapels. These are tend to be vague and somewhat inaccurate tropes, for, even I am too young to have been a teen in the Big O's prime. (Or should that be first prime?) But listening to his creamy voice makes me imagine I was.

I wasn't, growing up in the sixties, a big fan of rock and roll. in fact, give or take very early Elvis and Jerry Lee at his hair shaken forward all over his face peak, I found it all a little ludicrous. Bill Haley? Pur-leease. I sorta got Chuck Berry as I grew older, perhaps as the bands I did like covered so much his stuff, but have never taken to Little Richard. Again, I could appreciate the rockabilly styles of Eddie Cochran and Gene Vincent, but not so much the choreographed oddness of Buddy Holly, whom I thought looked a bit of a geek. (It took me decades to realise he was actually rather good...) But Roy Orbison, perhaps not really a rocker, in that grey area when the aggression of the late 50's was morphing into the schlocky easy listening balladeers of the early 60's, something about his shtick appealed to me, and, even aged in single figures, I was happy to sing along with his mellifluous melasma. He looked different, too, with the dark glasses, an air of mystery to the extent I thought him probably blind. (He wasn't, but looked way better in shades than without them, when he resembled a bewildered owl.) Plus he had the tragic side story of his real life, something that even endeared him to my mother, who seemed to want to mother him, and, unusually for her, had an opinion about him, unlike virtually any other performer beamed into our Thursday evenings, via Top of the Pops. (Positive opinion, that is, she having plenty to say about the Stones and the Who!)

I was three when 'Only the Lonely' was first a hit, so my memory is likely subliminal at best, later probably reconstructed as I grew. A number one in the UK, a place above its US pinnacle, it was said to be Orbison's longest lasting tenure in the hit parade. Not bad, when you consider he was also packing 50% of the royalties, it being a co-write of his with Joe Melson. Intriguingly, the idea had initially been to flog it to Elvis, or the Everly Brothers, Orbison only recording it as they turned it down. More fool they? It is astonishing, looking back at this run of hits, throughout the '60s, how big a star he then was, it hardly surprising that, as he dropped out of view and, perhaps, favour, to realise quite how influential he was with the next generation of performers.

Bruce Springsteen was never shy of his admiration, as the song 'Thunder Road' showed, the reference to Orbison a delight for those listening, themselves possibly already in thrall to him. Then, in 1988, came two momentous reawakenings. Firstly the possibly initial shock that greeted the formation of the Travellin' Wilbur's, the faux band of brothers, aka supergroup of George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne. And Roy Orbison. Who? That old fart, thought the world, ahead of having him blow off their socks with the power of his vocals and his understated and charismatic presence. And listen to what he actually sings in 'Handle me With Care'! (Me, I thought Jeff Lynne the nipple in the woodpile, but hey, his compadres seemed to like his execrable production style.) As Lefty Wilbury, Orbison made that album for me, he then moving straight on, or seeming to, to the Black and White Night video and album This was  from an HBO TV special, actually shown the year before, making it chronologically ahead of the Wilbury's, but I did not know that then. Now, this really was a superstar session, with respect to Otis, Lucky, Nelson and Charlie T. Jr., with Orbison running through a stack of his hits and more. With Presley's old TCB (takin' care of business) band, aka, later on, Emmylou's Hot Band behind him, James Burton, Jerry Scheff, Ronnie Tutt and Glen D. Hardin, how could it not sound great? Add in guests of the calibre of the aforesaid Springsteen, Elvis Costello, Tom Waits and Jackson Browne, and this was catnip to me. Hell, even the girly singers were Bonnie Raitt and Jennifer Warnes. Shot in black and white, this is a wonderful recordd of what must have been quite a night, and one that still bears repeated plays today.

All to suddenly, the Big O's renaissance ended. In December 1988, having been touring and needing downtime ahead of a trip to London to record some Wibury videos, he retreated to his home, dying, on the 6th, at his mother's house, of a massive heart attack. Astonishingly, in this age of octogenarian rockstars, plus my then thinking him unspeakably ancient, he was only 52. A generation ahead of his fellow Wilbury's, he was barely any older.

Finally, given the theme, and for completeness, here is another Only song he made. This one came from his last album, another posthumous release, Mystery Girl, coming out in 1989, and actually completed a month before he died. Even the Jeff Lynne production cannot hide the quality of the performance. 'The Only One' it is called, and he was, really, wasn't he?

"I'm so tired and very lonely"

MASKS: DOMINO

By now you know the score, I type the theme into search on my i-tunes and snarf up anything applicable. Mask wasn't so great, masque slightly better, but nothing that grabbed me or enough. Maybe if I do a second post. So it was to synonyms I sauntered, learning a bit along the way.

No, me neither, I had no idea the sort of mask as above is actually called a domino. Sure, no use against the virus, and pretty damn poor as a disguise, but it is what is is. Very popular in the Venetian Carnival, it seems, whereby folk could get up to all sorts of malarkey, being entirely unrecognisable to one and all, as they spread, no doubt, a good deal more than aerosol droplets.

Damn right, it's Sir George (Ivan) Morrison at the front, with Domino,  his exuberant paean to inscrutability, the meaning, as ever, as clear as murk. If you don't believe me, go check out the lyrics. They are unlikely to be about the board game beloved of the old and simple, so who's to say there isn't some mystical reference to masking up. Cos' Van is always mystical, or was 1980 to about 2000. Now he's just plain grouchy. But, back then, this track from 1970's His Band and the Street Choir, he was on fire, the musicianship and sassy play exemplary. (I read the song was actually a tribute to New Orleans legend, Fats Domino, exquisitely proving my point about it being nothing to do with dominoes. How could you possibly line up 1000 Fats Dominoes and see them tumble as anything wholesome to watch.)

Those nice boys from Squeeze provide our next tribute to limited disguise. In their later days, as glory began to dissipate, this is a fairly typical construction of their very well put together magpie pilfering of styles, built to carry the vocal and lyrical chicanery of Tillbrook and Difford. The title track from 1998 album, Domino. Here there is a mention of tumbling pieces, presumably in reference to the amount of drinking going on, itself another staple of their storybook songs. They play on to this day, I'm pleased to say, perhaps more heritage now than cutting edge, but all power to that.

The Big O, then, and a cat called Domino. Another reference to the big fella from N'Awlins, actually and really called (Antoine Dominique) Domino? I think not, the feline being the factor here, as many a cat has markings evoking a domino. None of this hipster slang, man, as those cats in the Cramps can confirm. From when Orbison was just amongst a cluster of rockabilly rebels trying to catch the crown of the King (Creole), perhaps that is why it seems so reminiscent.

I don't actually think much of this song, a slimmer effort, Domino Dancing,  by the sometimes wonderful Pet Shop Boys. Picking up on the Squeeze song, this again has the masked revellers all falling down as the absinthe hits. (Probably beer in the Squeeze world, but I can't quite ever see the PSB with anything quite so common.)

All in all I feel I have made a sound and sturdy case for my thesis. No more will you think of the Lone Ranger without remembering his mask and its name.

 Quickly before signing off, time again to return to the Belfast Gypsy and his imagery. Sticking to his theme, here is another in the same vein. And this his time truly about Kemosabe.

Go, Domino!

Homecoming: Blue Bayou

Our Homecoming theme got off to a great start, but then seems to have wilted. So I propose to define it as “songs about coming home, or wanting to.” That means two things: the song does not have to have the word Home in the title; and I can post this gem.

Linda Ronstadt: Blue Bayou

[purchase]

I first heard Blue Bayou when Linda Ronstadt released her version in 1977. My oldest brother was, and still is, a music snob, and one of his rules at the time was that no artist was worth your time unless they did original songs. (The musical gods would later have their revenge on him by making him love jazz, where many classics are covers) But, getting back to 1977, I knew I disagreed, because I had already discovered folk music. Blue Bayou was and is a powerful expression of yearning for home. Ronstadt completely sells the emotion of it, belting it out without oversinging. The song became an early hit for Ronstadt that really jump started her career, and it is easy to hear why. She completely sells the lyric. As you listen, you want to find out what happened to keep her from feeling that she can go home again.

Roy Orbison: Blue Bayou

[purchase]

What did happen was that Roy Orbison, 14 years earlier, had become a star whose livelihood meant he had to live his life on the road, away from the places and people he loved. Orbison was at the peak of his career in 1963, when this was released. Ironically, where Blue Bayou would mark the commercial arrival of Linda Ronstadt, it would mark the beginning of a commercial decline for Orbison. This version charted, but not in the way Orbison had become used to. It peaked at #29 on the pop charts, staying there for only one week. Soon after, the Beatles would arrive in the US, and Orbison would have to scale back his career. This original version of Blue Bayou features a great vocal, and it has a bass line that sounds great. Ronstadt’s version replaces that bass line, and I could not find another version that does it this way. That said, the female background vocals are cheesy, even for their time, and the song would have been better without them. Blue Bayou became a minor part of Orbison’s catalog, and I could find no other versions until Ronstadt’s. It is Linda Ronstadt who is being covered by everyone who comes after her.

Faith Ako: Blue Bayou

[purchase the album Kulaiwi here]

Blue Bayou usually works best with a soaring high tenor or soprano vocal. Faith Ako however makes it work beautifully with her rich alto. Ako is my great discovery for this post. Most of her songs are Hawaiian, as she is, but this one breaks the language barrier to allow those of us who don’t speak Hawaiian to appreciate her artistry. The instrumental flourishes here are stunning, and this arrangement works in any language.

The Cox Family: Blue Bayou

[purchase]

Even though Linda Ronstadt’s Blue Bayou is the standard, her arrangement sounds dated. In particular, the way the electric piano is used became a terrible cliché by the time the 70s were over. The Cox family strips the song down to a wonderfully spare acoustic arrangement, and then adds gorgeous vocal harmonies. There is a great live version live version of the Cox Family doing this one with Allison Kraus available on YouTube. I did not include it here because it is not available for purchase.

Raul Malo, Pat Flynn, Rob Ickes, and Dave Pomeroy: Blue Bayou

[purchase]

Finally, I had to include this version. Thanks to Linda Ronstadt, the vast majority of artists who cover this are women. I think there is also another reason why versions with male vocals are rare: there are very few male singers who can do justice to the song. I could think of only two who I would want to hear. One is Chis Isaak. I suspect that he has heard comparisons to Roy Orbison way too often, and wants nothing to do with it. The other is Raul Malo of the Mavericks. In fact, The Mavericks have done the song live, and Malo has also performed it with his own band. But the only recorded version I could find is this stunning acoustic version. As I suspected, Malo is a great choice to sing it, and the arrangement is great too.

1988: Traveling Wilburys

Traveling Wilburys: Handle with Care

[purchase]

1988 was Roy Orbison's big year. It started with Cinemax special, A Black and White Night, which aired in January. A diverse set of artists, including Tom Waits, Elvis Costello, Bonnie Raitt and Bruce Springsteen, formed an all-star band, backing the man who perfected the art of the rock power ballad.

Orbison started out as a Sun rocker. After shifting to the nascent Monument label in the early 1960s, he had a long string of hits -- "Pretty Woman," "Only the Lonely," and "In Dreams" among them -- but personal tragedies put an end to that. His wife Claudette (Orbison wrote a song about her recorded by the Everly Brothers) was killed in a motorcycle accident in 1966, and his two sons died in a fire three years later. In the 1970s, he experienced health problems and underwent triple bypass surgery.

By then, Orbison had faded into the background, though he never stopped working. Covers by Linda Ronstadt ("Blue Bayou") and Van Halen ("Pretty Woman") revived interest. Then came appearances on the soundtracks for Roadie, Hiding Out (he and k.d. lang dueted on "Crying") and most importantly Blue Velvet. The Cinemax special aired to great acclaim, and Orbison began working with Jeff Lynne on a comeback album.

Lynne was also producing George Harrison and thought Harrison and Orbison should record together. He booked time at Bob Dylan's studio, and on the way there, the three men stopped by Tom Petty's house and invited him to join the group. Dylan made it five. They recorded their first song, "Handle with Care," and decided to do more. The quintet named themselves the Traveling Wilburys, Orbison adopting the alias Lefty Wilbury, after Lefty Frizzell. The Traveling Wilburys' self-titled debut album was released in October 1988 and was an immediate hit, becoming Orbison's most successful record since his glory days. The Lynne-produced solo record, it was promised, would be Orbison's biggest album ever.

On December 6, as Roy Orbison's magic year of 1988 was coming to an end, he suffered a fatal heart attack. He was just 52 years old. In Martin Scorcese's HBO documentary about George Harrison, Tom Petty recalls getting a call from the ex-Beatle to tell him Orbison had passed. "Aren’t you glad," Harrison asked Petty, "it’s not you?"

Song Chain: Oh, Pretty Woman

Roy Orbison: Oh, Pretty Woman

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Okay, I'll get this started, and say obvious song is obvious. I saw Darius's title and thought it was actually this song, so this post is all about making mistakes at first glance.

When I was young, in 1965 when this song came out, I couldn't tell the difference between Roy Orbison and Elvis Presley, so I thought it was an Elvis song.

I always think this song is titled "Pretty Woman" but it's got an "Oh," in front of it.

And my picture of that pretty woman? Is a guy. That's J-Rocker Kaya, who looks way better than I do in makeup.